A Short Stop on the Way From Here to There
by Larilyn
Summary: Mid Season Five. Spike's got an itch to take a trip in his newly re-corporealized body. So Fred takes him home for Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

A Short Stop on the Way from Here to There

 _By Larilyn_

Disclaimer –Characters from Angel the Series belong to Joss Whedon, the WB and UPN. I'm just taking them on a little trip. I didn't write Sin Wagon, Walking After Midnight, Baby One More Time, Sleigh Bells, or Jenny (867-5309) If I had, I'd have bought a new computer by now.

Summary – Spike's got an itch to take a trip in his newly re-corporealized body. So Fred takes him home for Christmas.

Spoilers – Through Season Five's Destiny

* * *

"Did you peek?"

Spike glanced over to his traveling companion. Her eyes remained steadfastly on the road.

"Whassat love?"

"When the Reaper was trying to send you to hell, and you left that message for me in the shower, did you peek?"

"That would be a violation of your privacy."

"You peeked," Fred accused.

"Maybe a little."

Fred turned onto Interstate 10. Spike regarded her in silence, studying her angelic features.

"So?" she prompted.

"So what?"

"How'd I look?"

"Are we really having this conversation?"

Fred shrugged. "It's a long way to Texas. We have to find something to talk about."

"And this is the subject you chose?"

"I'm sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"A little." Spike smiled at her. "But then, that was your plan, wasn't it?"

"Maybe."

"My dear Fred, I think you may be a little bit bad."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I dunno. You looked all right," he answered with practiced nonchalance. "Everything in its proper place, nice proportions. Skin looked smooth," with every word he delved further into the memory of Fred in the steam-filled shower. His last word came out as a near growl, "…supple."

"I'm not having sex with you."

Spike was shocked back to the present. "Pardon?"

"Being in a confined space for an extended period of time may cause the density of pheromones in this vehicle to increase, leading us to think that we are feeling desires that we may not really feel. Assuming of course that vampires emit hormones…"

"What if I was feeling desires before we even got into this rolling aphrodisiac?"

Fred's cell phone rang out the theme to Sponge Bob Square Pants. She quickly fished it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

"Fred's phone. Fred speaking."

"Saved by the bell," Spike muttered.

Through the somewhat static-y reception, Angel's voice was easily identifiable. "Fred? Did you take the Viper?"

"Well, yeah. You said I could take whichever car I wanted," she reminded him with a hint of apology in her voice.

"I know I did but I figured you'd take the Beemer or the Aston-Martin."

"The Aston-Martin is so me," Fred agreed, "But Spike said that the Viper would get better gas mileage and we really shouldn't waste fossil fuels. Did you know that in 200 years the world's supply of oil will be depleted?"

"That's…interesting. _Spike_ told you to take the Viper?"

"Yeah. He's coming with me to my parents'. I know I told you that."

"When did you tell me that?"

"Between your meeting with the Golgometh demon and the merger between the coffin supply company and the vampire gang from Transylvania."

"Oh. And I said you could take the Viper?" Angel abruptly shifted his area of concern; "He's not hitting on you, is he?"

"You know, _sssss_ I think the signal is getting weak. _Ssssss._ We must be moving out of satellite range or maybe we're catching interference from sunspots. They can emit a kind of geothermal radiation that can…"

Spike reached over and took the phone. With a flip, Angel was cut off.

"Thanks," Fred said.

"How's tall, dark, and broody?"

"Does the Viper really get better gas mileage than the Aston-Martin?"

Spike shrugged.

"Oh!" Fred pointed at an oncoming Buick. "Nevada! That's another one for me."

"I hate this game," Spike muttered.

"Lets see, I have Nevada, Texas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Washington and Minnesota. That's six. How many states do you have now?"

"One. California. This is a stupid game."

"My family always played the license plate game on road trips. We'd stop at little diners to eat and Daddy always took lots and lots of pictures." Fred glanced over at the moping vampire.

"You can have Kansas. We saw it at pretty much the same time."

"Hey, no pity points for the Big Bad!"

"Okay. I didn't mean to offend you. I didn't realize that proficiency at the license plate game was of such great importance to your ego."

Spike tossed a dirty look in Fred's direction and flipped on the radio.

 _Just hear those sleigh bells ringaling ting ting tingling too…._

"No." Spike fiddled with the dial.

 _My loneliness is killing me I must confess I still believe…_

"No."

 _"…ounty Sheriff's department has no leads in the murders of three women who were disemboweled and dumped near Interstate Ten. Officials are not releasing details…"_

Spike switched off the radio. "Bugger."

"Disemboweled? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Nope. I am not thinking that this may be a demonic attack and that we should stop to investigate. I'm not thinking that because _I_ am on _vacation_."

"Spike…"

"I saved the world, came back as a ghost, was nearly sent to hell by a spectral serial killer and went on a mission to be the first to drink the sacred Mountain Dew. In the process of which, I nearly got beaten to death by your boss, Senor Forehead. I _need_ a vacation."

"Spike."

"You promised me Christmas dinner with Mom and Pop Burkle. Turkey and fudge and fruitcake. Not a game of supernatural Sherlock Holmes."

"Spike…"

"Oh all right," he crossly conceded, "But you better make it up to me."

"Make it up how?" Fred asked trepidatiously.

"No whips and chains love. Maybe a little something involving whipped cream."

"You're impossible."

"I'm charming."

* * *

Fred was speaking into the payphone in the corner of the dingy all night diner while Spike fiddled with her cell phone.

"I promise we'll be there for Christmas dinner, Mom. Something important came up is all… yeah…Spike has been talking about fruitcake all night. He's very excited. Listen Mom, Charles is supposed to call me back so…okay…I love you too…bye."

She replaced the receiver and asked, "Didja get the cell phone to work?"

"No signal. Must be those damned sunspots. Just out of curiosity, what did you tell the folks about me?"

"That you're a vampire with a soul like An…"

Spike scowled at her, so Fred shifted, "…a cuddly tiger cub…who can be big and scary and grrrrrr."

"Good cover."

"You know, there's nothing wrong with being compared to Angel. He's brave and handsome and…"

"Boring."

"He's not! Well, okay, he's a little dull. But I think that's more the broody thing. It's hard to be a sparkling conversationalist when you're all burdened…"

"With a soul? I have a soul. You don't see me doing a grand impersonation of a rock."

"Yeah? Well we all know you're Mr. Personality."

"Don't you forget it."

The pay phone rang and Fred snatched it up. "Charles? Did you…?"

Spike leaned in so he could hear Gunn's side of the conversation.

"Girl, you owe me big time. I had to do some serious digging to find anyone in the Sheriff's department willing to talk to you."

"Did you have a contact at Wolfram and Hart?"

"Hell, I had to go back farther than that. Guy was a friend of Kate's."

"Who?"

"Before your time. Listen. The locals are in a real tiz over these murders. This guy is only willing to talk off the record and only because Angel did some serious groveling."

"I appreciate it. When will he get here?"

"Have no idea. Stay put. He'll be there as soon as he can. And hey, Fred? Spike's not hitting on you is he?"

Spike smirked. Fred rolled her eyes and said, "Goodbye Charles."

Pretending that he wasn't listening to every word, Spike asked, "Well? We demon hunting or what?"

"Right now we wait. Want some pie?"

* * *

"You put one more quarter in that jukebox and I swear I'll bite you."

Fred smiled flirtatiously and rose from their booth. "Promises, promises."

She plunked a few more quarters and pressed a few more buttons on the jukebox and then went back to Spike.

The first few chords of the Dixie Chicks' _Sin Wagon_ played and Spike whined, "We've already heard this!"

"So?" Fred asked taking a bite of her apple pie. "I've already had a slice of this and I think its just as good the second time around."

"Didn't they have any thing else in that box? Maybe some Doors or Zeppelin?"

"I didn't look."

Spike made a face at Fred. She responded with, "Finish your pie."

"I'm sick of pie. Where's this bloke from the Sheriff's?"

"He'll be here when he gets here. You're really impatient."

"Just now noticing?"

Fred ignored Spike's last comment. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the music of her favorite band.

Fred sang along quietly while Spike watched with increasing affection.

 _On a mission to make something happen_

 _Feel like Delilah lookin' for Samson_

 _Do a little mattress dancin'_

She opened her eyes long enough to sing to Spike, "That's right I said mattress dancin'."

Spike's eyes widened in response but Fred's had already snapped shut again.

He watched her sing for another verse. She wiggled in their booth and bopped her head back and forth to the beat. He hated to stop her but, "Love, I think our man is here."

The man that entered the diner was clearly in law enforcement, even without his uniform on. He approached Fred and Spike cautiously. When he reached their table, he asked quietly, "You two from Angel Investigations?"

Spike cast a bemused glance at Fred. She wisely answered, "Yes, that's us."

As the sheriff's deputy sat, Fred introduced, "I'm Fred and this is Spike."

"Andrew Miles." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a folder. "Here's a map that details where the victims were found. I'd give you a list of suspects, but we don't have any.

The bodies were cut open with a very sharp, thin blade. Maybe a scalpel."

"And they were…" Fred choked on the word, "disemboweled?"

Deputy Miles nodded, "More than that. Now, this isn't in the report. The victims' entrails haven't been found. He took them."

Fred blanched visibly. "Why on earth?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Miles stood to leave. "Good luck."

"Thanks mate," Spike said.

As soon as he left the diner, Fred said, "We should call Wesley. See what he can give us off what little information we have."

* * *

Spike amused himself by reading the phone numbers on the grimy wall next to the payphone while Fred spoke to Wesley.

 _Ashley 555-2460_

The former watcher was speaking so enthusiastically that Spike could hear him through the receiver, even without trying.

"Well, the demon in question could be doing several things. The obvious, of course, is that he is ingesting the victims' remains."

Fred replied into the phone, "Obviously."

 _John is a stud!_

"Another obvious conclusion to draw would be that the demon is engaging in haruspicy."

"A-whatcha-sy?"

 _HP & GW 4 ever_

"Haruspicy. The reading of animal entrails. Much in the same manner as tea leaves."

"He's divining the future using people's guts?"

 _For a good time call Jenny 867-5309_

"I'll do some research and call you back. Oh, and Fred?"

"What?"

"I trust that Spike is behaving himself?"

"Good bye Wesley."

Fred turned to Spike. "Do you know what haruspicy is?"

"Uh, yeah," Spike thought for a minute, "it's a form of divination. Reading entrails."

"It worries me that you know that."

Spike shrugged, "One of Dru's hobbies."

"She must have been a lovely girl."

Before Spike could retort, the phone rang out, echoing against the walls of the near-empty diner.

"That was quick," Fred commented before snatching up the phone. "Wesley?"

Spike leaned close to Fred to hear.

"No Cream Puff, its me."

"Lorne? Are you calling about the demon we're hunting?"

"No no no. Wes told me where you were stuck and I was wondering if you would be willing to do the green machine a favor."

Spike looked at Fred and chuckled, "Green machine?"

Fred covered the receiver with her hand and scolded, "Don't eavesdrop. Its rude."

Spike, nonplussed, continued to eavesdrop.

"Sugar Cookie? You still there?"

"Sorry," Fred apologized to Lorne, "What kind of favor?"

"There's this joint, and believe me I do use the term 'joint' loosely, a few clicks south of where you are."

While Fred asked, "What's a click?" Spike dug out the map that Deputy Miles had given them.

"A couple of miles, Apple Dumpling. One of the regulars at the bar out there, an old honky tonk really, very vintage, he sent me a tape. He's pretty good. Thought you might check him out. Save me the trip."

"Lorne," Fred protested, "we're investigating a series of brutal murders…"

Spike snatched the receiver from Fred and spoke, "We're on it."

"Spike? I didn't know that you were traveling with our little peach pit. You aren't hitting on her, are you?"

"What's the name of the bar?"

* * *

"Would you mind telling me why we are here?" Fred asked her companion as they entered the dimly lit honky-tonk.

Spike handed her the map that the Deputy had given them.

Fred studied it for a moment before declaring, "Spike, you're a genius!"

"You forgot to mention sexy."

"I'm not sleeping with you." Without missing a beat, she added, "The murders seem to radiate out from this central point. We might find a lead here."

Spike approached the bar. Fred followed, still studying the map.

Leaning on the bar, Spike asked the bartender, "Hey, can I get us a couple of pints?"

The bartender looked confused at the request. "Eh?"

"Two drafts, please," Fred clarified.

"Coming right up, little lady."

The bartender plopped two foamy beers in icy mugs in front of the pair, but they went unnoticed. Fred was absorbed in the map. Spike was absorbed in something else.

 _I go out walkin'_

 _After midnight_

 _Out in the moonlight_

 _Just like we used to do_

 _I'm always walkin'_

 _After midnight_

 _Searchin' for you_

With a husky voice, Spike commanded, "Let's dance."

Fred looked up, a bit taken aback. "Huh?"

Spike leaned in and told her in a near whisper, "The rednecks are eyeing you a bit too close. I don't like it. Want them to know that you aren't available."

 _I walk for miles_

 _Along the high-way_

 _Well that_ ' _s just my way_

 _Of sayin' I love you_

 _I'm always walkin'_

 _After midnight_

 _searchin' for you_

"Are they still watching me?"

"Mhm," Spike answered. "Can't take their eyes off of you, love. Can't say I blame them."

In the corner of the bar were six men. They were watching her. Every eye was on Fred. It was creepy the way their eyes followed her, and Fred didn't creep out easily. Fred tightened her grip on Spike, in response to her fear, but she had enough courage left to remind him, "Still not gonna sleep with you."

"You make me nuts, you know that?"

"Why?" she asked while she held tighter to Spike's leather coat that she imagined was hiding her, "Because I don't respond to your obvious sex appeal?"

"Yeah! Even Willow had the hots for me, and she batted for the other team."

Fred knew exactly what Spike was doing, distracting her from her fear, so she played along.

"You're not really Willow's type."

"And what exactly is Willow's type?"

"Me. You know if I had a different sexual orientation."

"Two've you would make a cute couple."

"Ya think?"

"You're a lot alike," Spike asserted.

"We are?"

"Yeah. All chipper and sweet and reliable."

"Oh great-reliable. That's a compliment every girl wants to hear. There's good old Fred, Old Faithful."

"The dog?"

"The geyser. You're thinking of Old Yeller."

"Right. Always get those two confused. Now don't look all sullen, love. Reliable's good. Take Red for instance- underneath that reliable exterior was a real spitfire. You're like that too."

For several beats Spike was in his own world. He smiled to himself. Fred had to know, "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"I was just thinking that if I had a dime for every time that I thought of turning Willow…Don't look at me like that, I was _evil_."

 _I stop to see a weepin' willow_

 _Cryin' on his pillow_

 _Maybe he's cryin' for me_

 _And as the skies turn gloomy_

 _Night winds whisper to me_

 _I'm lonesome as I can be_

"Now that I think of it, you and Willow might be a little too obvious. You need to shake it up a bit, love. You need someone more like…"

"You?"

"Now that you mention it."

"Spike?"

"Yeah love?"

"They're still watching me."

"Yeah love."

"I'm getting a little freaked."

"We can go."

"If we do, we'll never solve these murders."

"Then we stay."

Fred clung even tighter to Spike.

"Love? Song's over. Let's sit."

Fred nodded her assent. She and Spike headed to the corner opposite the six men with the eyes that watched her.

End Part One


	2. Chapter 2

A Short Stop on the Way from Here to There

 _By Larilyn_

Disclaimer –Characters from Angel the Series belong to Joss Whedon, the WB and UPN. I'm just taking them on a little trip. I didn't write In the Flesh, Looking for Love(in all the wrong places) or the Twelve Days of Xmas. If I had, I'd have bought a new computer by now.

Summary – Spike's got an itch to take a trip in his newly re-corporealized body. So Fred takes him home for Christmas.

Spoilers – Through Season Five's Destiny

* * *

"Oooh," Fred cooed, "I like him."

The singer that Lorne had wanted Fred and Spike to check out had taken the stage. He was handsome, with wavy brown hair and olive eyes. He wore a red flannel shirt and too-tight jeans with an oversized belt buckle.

Spike scoffed, "Pfft, Fermata demon."

"He's a demon? Is he our mysterious murder suspect?"

"Doubt it. Fermatas are usually harmless, musically inclined. But they tend to hang on to their particular musical style for too long. More than a few classical musicians are Fermatas. Plus, Brian Setzer, Lyle Lovett, Michael Jackson."

"I _knew_ he was a demon."

Spike smiled at his companion, "Michael Jackson?"

"Lyle Lovett."

Spike nodded toward the group of men that had watched Fred so intently, "Our pack of peeping Toms have shifted their attention."

"What are they up to?" Fred wondered aloud.

"Dunno. But I mean to find out. Stay put, love." Spike headed to the bar to speak to the bartender, leaving Fred to enjoy the music.

The musician took his guitar from around his neck and spoke into the microphone with a sexy, husky voice, "I'm goin' to take a quick break folks, but I'll be back."

Fred stretched in her chair and glanced over to the bar to see Spike engrossed in conversation with the bartender. She surveyed the bar and felt a surge of panic wash over her as she realized that half of the group of creepy guys was headed right in her direction just as the jukebox began to play an old classic.

 _I've spent a lifetime lookin' for you._

 _Single bars and good time lovers were never true._

"Winifred Burkle?" The head creepy guy asked with a creepy smile.

"Yuh huh?" It came out more a question than an answer.

"I knew it was her," the head creepy guy pseudo-punched the creepy guy to his right.

The creepy guy to his left said, "You probably don't recognize us." He plopped himself down in Spike's chair. "Is that Spike you're with?"

The head creepy guy took another chair opposite Fred, "Of course its Spike, you idiot. Who else would it be?"

The right-hand creepy guy sat down to the right of Fred, "So you and Spike are…?"

Left guy begged, "Please say no. I had my fifty bucks on Wesley."

"Fat chance." Center guy said, "The good bet is on Angel"

Left guy asserted, "Will never happen."

Center guy reminded him, "He rescued her from a hell dimension!"

"Um," Fred asked gently, "Do I know you guys?"

Left guy smacked center guy. "I _told_ you she didn't recognize us."

Right guy explained, "We're from Wolfram and Hart? The accounting department?"

"Oh." Fred brightened, "Oooohh. How _are_ you guys?"

"It's always a good night when we get to see Bryant McKinnon perform. This your first time?"

"Yeah."

"He's great isn't he? We were the ones who told him to send his tape to Lorne."

"Did you know he was a demon?" Fred asked in a stage whisper.

"Of course."

Head guy told the others, "Oh hey, he's coming back on. We'll see you at work, Fred."

Left guy winked at Fred as a left and mouthed, "You and Wesley."

She waved goodbye to the accounting guys.

 _looking for love in all the wrong places._

 _Looking for love in too many faces._

 _Searching their eyes, looking for traces_

 _of what I'm dreaming of._

Spike rushed to her table as soon as he saw them walking away from her. "Are you all right, love? I should never have left you alone. They didn't do anything, did they?"

"No, they were really nice."

"Demons?"

Fred shook her head. "Accountants."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "They definitely bear watching then."

Fred was a little disturbed about one thing. "I think they're betting on my love life."

"Yeah? I got a hundred and fifty on Lorne. Green is your favorite color, right?"

 _Hoping to find a friend and a lover,_

 _I'll bless the day I discover_

 _another heart, looking for love!_

* * *

"Hold up mate. We have a few questions for you." Backstage, Spike grabbed the Fermata demon's shoulder and forced him to turn around.

The Fermata demon looked at Spike, then at Fred, then at Spike again. Suddenly, he had punched Spike in the jaw and grabbed Fred, holding her behind him. "Stay behind me miss."

He shook a fist at Spike and declared, "I can take you vampire!"

Spike laughed at the Fermata demon, who was holding his fists up like a boxer. "Relax mate. I wouldn't dream of hurting the bird." He wiped away the drop of blood that had formed in the corner of his mouth and examined it closely.

Fred rushed to Spike's side and helped him to his feet. "Are you okay? You're bleeding."

"I'm all right, pet."

"I'm not." The Fermata demon wrinkled his brow. "I'm confused."

"Take a whiff. Smell anything funny about me?"

"A soul? How is that possible?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here, mate. Got a name?"

"Bryant McKinnon."

Spike growled with annoyance, "Your _real_ name?"

"Bryant Giuseppi Verdi Amadeus Rufus Alfonso Montague McKinnon."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fermatas."

Fred took over the questioning. "Have you noticed anything strange around here? Anybody acting peculiarly?"

"Around here? Try everybody."

Fred's cell phone took the inopportune moment to ring. "Hello? Officer Ross? Oh this signal's horrible. I'll go outside."

Fred took about two steps before Spike stopped her. "I'll go. Don't want you out there alone. Stay with Wolfgang here."

Fred watched Spike leave and then turned to Bryant McKinnon. "So, Lyle Lovett, huh?"

McKinnon smiled at her and then nodded at someone behind her. "Hey Beck. You off for the night?"

The bartender came into Fred's view. "Yeah. Trish finally relieved me." With disgust he added, "Women."

McKinnon laughed, "Can't live with 'em, can't write a good country song without 'em."

The bartender did not look amused. "Yeah. Whatever." He turned his steely blue eyes on Fred. "Your boyfriend leave?"

"Oh," Fred stammered to explain, "Spike's not my boyfriend. He stepped out to take a call."

The bartender smiled at Fred in a way that made her suddenly uncomfortable. "Great." He pulled a stun gun out of his pocket and hit the Fermata demon with it. As he stalked toward Fred, he chatted amiably, "I've never taken a girl when there was a witness around. But you are just too delectable to resist." Fred took off running toward the exit, toward Spike. The bartender grabbed her from behind and spun her around. With a firm, painful grip, he grabbed her chin with his hand. "I can see the future in your eyes."

Fred gulped, "How romantic?"

Then she felt a sting in her side and everything went black.

* * *

Spike walked back into the back of the bar, "Hey Fred, that was our good deputy. Says that the ME found stun gun burns on the last victim. Now what kind of demon uses a stun gun?"

Spike stopped talking when he realized he was well past the place where he had left his companion. "Fred?"

Spike turned to look behind him. He had walked right past the Fermata demon.

Feeling an indescribable rise of panic, he went to McKinnon's side and began shaking him. "Mate? Wake up. Where's Fred?"

The Fermata demon answered, "Uggghhhhh," and held his aching head.

Spike gave him a harder shake, "Where's Fred?"

"I don't….what happened?"

"That's _my_ question. Where's Fred?"

"She was right here… we were talking…"

"You and Fred?"

McKinnon's eyes widened with a sudden memory. "And Beck."

"The bartender? Son of a…" Spike hauled the Fermata demon to his feet. "We have to find her."

* * *

"Ow," Fred attempted to raise her hand up to cradle her aching head. She pulled futilely at the restraints that bound her to a chair. "Hey…" she complained to the empty room as she came to, "where am I?"

Fred blinked a few times, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the all-pervasive darkness.

Several long minutes passed before the small amount of light allowed her to see her surroundings. Her chair rested on packed dirt. Not fresh-smelling fertile soil but hard, lifeless clay. The room was small, maybe eight feet square. A large spider crawled up Fred's arm, tickling her with its light legs, but bound so tightly, she could not shake it off.

"Oh Lordy, I'm in trouble," she muttered to herself. "Where are you Spike?"

About the only movement that Fred could make was to hop around with the chair strapped to her. Scooting the chair to the door was her best chance to escape. With frustrating slowness, she inched her way to the door. Once there she reached for the door handle, but her arms were bound so tightly to her sides that she couldn't reach. She tried kicking, but her legs were strapped to the legs off the chair and she could only move them a precious few inches. Her next thought was to pound the back of her chair into the door by pushing off with her feet.

First, she had to turn around. As soon as this task was accomplished, Fred wished that it wasn't. On the wall opposite the door were three glass pickle jars, each containing what Fred assumed were the missing entrails of the murder victims.

"Oh, I am so screwed."

* * *

 _Darling, darling, darling, watch out if I see you_

 _'Cause if you say hello_

 _It'll mean you wanna see me in the flesh_

Spike, with the Fermata demon at his side, drove ninety miles an hour on the back road to the bartender's home. Spike accelerated the Viper, even as he took a hairpin turn on a dirt road.

McKinnon, the Fermata demon, held on for dear life.

"I leave the girl in your protection for five seconds…"

"Hey," McKinnon protested, "We Fermatas aren't exactly the bodyguard type. Most of our supernatural skills involve music, not muscle power."

"And your excuse for not recognizing that Beck was a demon?"

"He's not a demon."

"Come again?" Spike asked as he forced the wheel around.

 _Ooh warm and soft in the flesh_

After the deafening sound of the tires squealing their protest had died, McKinnon asked, "Did you sense anything demonic about that guy?"

"Well….no," Spike admitted.

"If Beck is a demon than I'm Britney Spears."

"What does he want with Fred?" Spike sighed.

"Humans can be evil too, you know. Its part and parcel of my existence. No evil, no tragedy. No tragedy, no music. Some of the most haunting melodies in history have been inspired by…" Spike threw McKinnon a dirty look. "I'm shutting up now."

 _Ooh close and hot in the flesh_

* * *

"I will not cry," Fred told herself. Over and over she repeated, "I will not cry. I will not cry."

She twisted her hands in the ropes until they bled. She banged her chair against the door until her head pounded. She stared at the jars on the shelves until her eyes watered and all the time she chanted, "I will not cry."

The jarring sound of a key in the lock shocked her from her mantra. "Spike?" she shrieked,

"Spike, I'm here!"

She knew that it wouldn't be Spike coming through that door. It had been too much to hope for. But Fred was a hopeful person and when Beck came strolling into her prison, Fred tried her damnedest to be too darned cute to cut up.

"Oh, hey," Fred stammered, "Hi there."

He walked by Fred like she was an inanimate object.

"So…um, haruspicy huh?" Fred tried to remember every safety tip she had ever heard on Oprah. Rule number three? Make your captor think of you as a person. "That's really fascinating. I'm a scientist myself. Anatomy isn't really my thing but I've got the basics down. The knee bone's connected to the femur and all that. I'm a physicist. My name's Fred. Winifred, actually. But everybody calls me Fred."

Beck went on about his business, pulling a black canvas bag off of the jar-filled shelves and emptying its contents onto a small wooden table.

"Those are really sharp knives," Fred muttered, "I should probably tell you, I had my appendix out when I was twelve. Does that make a difference? You don't use it as, I don't know, a pointer or something, do you? I wouldn't want to ruin your little…project…because I'm missing some important parts. So you can let me go if you want. I won't be at all offended."

Without a glance in her direction, Beck walked out of the room, clicking the lock into place.

Fred began again, "I will not cry. I will not cry."

* * *

Spike kicked the tire of the Viper and bellowed, "Damn it!"

The Fermata demon cringed a little. Spike's ire overwhelming. "You sure this is the place?"

"Its Beck's house," Bryant McKinnon acknowledged. "I brought him his paycheck once when he had the flu."

Spike narrowed his eyes at the demon and pointed an accusing finger at him. "If Fred dies, I'm going to kill you."

"What did I do?"

"You let a human kidnap her. A _human_." Spike unleashed another kick to the tire.

"You just won't let it go, will you?"

"Not until I find the girl."

McKinnon's interest was peaked, "Is she your girlfriend? I could write a great country song about that. A human and a vampire, in love. One a child of darkness, the other can only bloom in the night. Wait, that's a mixed metaphor…nice lyric though."

Spike was growing annoyed. "She is not my girlfriend, she's my friend. And I will do anything, _anything_ , to get her back safe and sound."

The Fermata demon, who was leaning against Beck's cabin asked, "Does that include breaking and entering?" He nonchalantly broke the window with his elbow.

Spike smiled, "Now you're acting like my kind of demon."

McKinnon reached through the broken window and unlocked the door. With a flourish he opened it for Spike.

Spike took a few steps in and wrinkled his nose with disgust, "Must be the maid's day off."

Dirty dishes were piled in the kitchenette sink. There were seven or eight bags of trash in the living area that had never made it to the curb for pickup. About a dozen flies circled the filth.

McKinnon peeked into the one bedroom. "Oh…kay, that's interesting."

Spike looked in as well. The bedroom was pristine. "You could bounce a quarter off of that bed. Hospital corners and everything. What do you think? This bloke a schizo?"

"You're thinking of multiple personality disorder. Schizophrenics hear voices but they don't have split personalities." Spike shot McKinnon a look. "What? You got a problem with a demon having an education?"

"No problem," Spike said, taking a few steps into the room.

"Wait," the Fermata called out. "You hear that?"

Spike stopped and looked around. "Hear what?"

"There's a basement under the bedroom." McKinnon walked back and forth through the bedroom doorway. "There isn't one under the rest of the house."

"You sure?" Spike asked.

"Fermatas notice these things," McKinnon explained. "Our footsteps are definitely a different timbre in the bedroom. There's space under the floor."

"So we look for a trapdoor," Spike said, dropping to his hands and knees and looking under the bed.

McKinnon went for the closet and began ripping it apart. "I've got it!"

Spike went to his side. Sure enough, the Fermata demon had found a trap door and opened it. Rickety stairs led down to darkness.

"You think your friend is down there?"

"Only one way to find out," Spike said as he took a few steps down into the inky black basement.

"I can't see anything down here," McKinnon complained at the bottom of the stairs.

Spike reached up and pulled on the string that turned on the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. "Vampire vision," he bragged. Then he looked at the relics that filled the dungeon-like room.

"Magic supplies…" McKinnon said, "Slush powder, magician's wax, fanning powder…"

"But no Fred." Spike picked up a photograph, "This must be Beck in his younger days." The bartender/magician was wearing a black cloak and top hat. Spike read from a poster that hung behind the man. "The great Mellini."

"Let me see that," McKinnon took the picture from Spike. "Wait a minute, this was taken at the bar. It must have been a magic club before it became a honky-tonk."

"If it was a magic club once," Spike reasoned, "Then it had to have had trap doors."

"That would explain how Beck got Fred out past you."

"She's still at the bloody bar."

* * *

"Almost…there…" Fred wrenched her hand free from the ropes. "Thank you Lord."

She made quick work of the rest of the knots. She stood and stretched and then paced the room, searching, "Weapon. I need a weapon."

The knives were the obvious choice, but the blades were only about an inch and a half long and Fred didn't want to have to get that close to him.

She hefted one of the jars and felt compelled to apologize to the remains of the victim inside.

"Hope you don't mind being used as a club. But then you might consider it some kind of cosmic justice."

Fred stood behind the door and waited. She didn't have to wait long.

Beck moved quickly when he saw the empty chair and Fred only got a glancing blow with the jar.

Still, it was enough that Fred made it out of her prison and got a head start on Beck.

She quickly realized that they were in an underground structure. She sprinted down the tunnel with Beck close at her heels.

"Come back here, bitch!" he screamed.

Fred could feel him gaining on her. When he tackled her from behind, she screamed bloody murder. Beck flipped her over and with a closed fist he hit Fred in the face. While she was stunned, Beck ripped the bottom part of her shirt open, revealing the vulnerable expanse of her belly.

Fred had one advantage. He could not hold both of her arms and wield the knife he had pulled out of his back pocket. As hard as she could, she drove the heel of her hand into Beck's nose.

While he howled in pain, Fred scrambled away. Then she heard the most beautiful sound: Spike, calling her name. She ran toward him. As soon as she was in his arms, the floodgates opened.

"Hold that thought, love." Spike murmured into her hair. "I've got some business with our man, Beck."

He passed Fred to McKinnon and asked, "You think you can keep her safe this time, mate?"

Spike didn't wait for a response before he stalked purposefully down the tunnel.

* * *

Fred took the Styrofoam cup full of steaming coffee from Spike and inhaled the aroma. She waited in the back of the ambulance for the paramedic to release her. He had already treated her wrists and her various other cuts and scrapes. Fred was anxious to get back on the road.

Her folks were waiting for her.

Fred and Spike watched as Beck was loaded into the sheriff's car.

"What kind of demon was he?" Fred asked Spike.

"He was human."

"Human? Not supernatural, paranormal? Not controlled by demonic forces?"

Spike shrugged, "Nope."

"So he was just a nut that wanted to cut me up for fun?"

"Yup."

Fred let out a little whimper.

"Whaddya say we blow this town, love? It's lost its appeal."

"I would have to agree with you on that."

"Don't go yet," a friendly face peeked into the ambulance. McKinnon, the Fermata demon handed Fred a small package. "Merry Christmas. Its not much. Just a little something to remember me by. It'll give you something to listen to on the road."

"Thanks," Fred smiled and examined the track listing on McKinnon's CD. "I'll be sure that Lorne gets this."

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Nothing a little fruitcake won't cure."

* * *

Mom and Pop Burkle had laid out one hell of a Christmas dinner, including armadillo blood for Spike. The Burkles sang carols over their eggnog. Spike dozed off in an armchair around the eighth verse of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

When he awoke, the room was darkened and Fred was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch.

"Hey love."

"Hey." Fred nodded toward the illuminated Christmas tree and asked, "Isn't it beautiful, Spike?"

"Lovely. Why are you sitting here alone in the dark?"

"I'm not alone. You're here."

Fred patted the spot on the couch next to her and Spike went to her side and sat down while Fred explained, "Its just something that I like to do. Its peaceful, watching the lights."

Fred shifted her position on the couch so she could lean against Spike. He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

"Merry Christmas, Spike."

"Merry Christmas, Fred."

"Thanks for saving me," she said quietly.

He whispered back, "You were worth saving."

End


End file.
